


Help

by CeslaToil



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad old men, Weirdmageddon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 19:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10600761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeslaToil/pseuds/CeslaToil
Summary: Stan finds unlikely comfort during Weirdmageddon.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dan_vs92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dan_vs92/gifts).



> A fic I wrote for Danvssomethingorother; I'll gladly share it with my readers but it's first and foremost a gift for them.

The Shack was packed with every rag-tag oddball left in town, and yet Stan had never felt lonelier in thirty years. Soos and Wendy had gone; perhaps they were sticking it out in the wasteland with their own families.

(It's what he would have done.)

His brother had disappeared once again, leaving not the slightest idea on how he could even begin to fix this.

(Figures.)

Stan insisted to himself that it was for the best: his ungrateful twin didn't care about him, why should he spend any more nights worrying if Ford was alive or dead? He had done his worrying for thirty years, he wouldn't spend another thought on a hopeless case.

The kids were gone.

This idea alone chilled his blood. He hadn't seen either Dipper or Mabel for days now, not since the sky had split open and spilled monsters into the world like blood out of a stab wound. Stan asked their little friends if they'd been with them when the demon attacked-- not a trace. They had always been adventurous kids, it had been the same with him and Ford before an entire lifetime full of regret has passed, but Dipper and Mabel had always come back at the end of the day. If they weren't back by now--

(No.)

He was never going to allow himself to finish that thought.

Stan had lost his bed to one of the manotaurs, so that night he wandered aimlessly as he tried to find a place to sleep. Sleep had become scarce ever since the world had ended, but a man should be able to have a place he could sleep in his own home, couldn't he?

He tiptoed past humans and monsters alike, resisting the urge to punt one of the gnomes across the room as he neared his brother's old room. Through the open door Stan saw McGucket, who was staring at his surroundings rapt as if he was yet another gullible tourist.

McGucket, upon seeing Stan, beamed his snaggletoothed grin at him.

"I remember this room," he told Stan proudly, stretching the straps of his overalls as he spoke.

"Uh huh. Great," said Stan, not listening.

"It is," insisted McGucket, "in fact-- golly, I reckon I used to live here!"

"Is that why you brought every misfit in town here," sighed Stan, who made his way towards the couch. He was ready to pass out.

"Maybe so," the hillbilly murmured, his face pensive as if he was turning the suggestion over carefully in his mind. McGucket took a a seat next to Stan, who was sitting listlessly on his brother's couch, not looking at anything in particular. Stan had no energy to tell the old koot to scram.

"I don't remember you though," admitted McGucket. His voice sounded apologetic. When Stan didn't respond, McGucket continued, "Hey Stan? D'you think we used to be friends maybe?"

Stan blinked. In the thirty odd years he had lived in this crazy town, he had never heard McGucket refer to him by his first name.

"No. We weren't," Stan shook his head, and with that, he collapsed onto the couch. He didn't even particularly care that his head was now resting on McGucket's lap. He just wanted quiet.

"Oh."

So much for quiet.

Nonetheless, Stan closed his eyes, his face knotted with worry as he tried to fall into a dark, dreamless sleep. This wasn't easy, as McGucket had decided to start stroking his hair; it didn't feel bad, actually, but it was quite distracting.

"You're worried sick about those Kiddos, ain't ya," said McGucket softly.

Stan wasn't sure why, maybe it was McGucket's gentle touch, or the kind words of concern, or maybe it was because he hadn't slept in days, but Stan broke out into an ugly fit of sobs.

"Aw, skiddles," muttered McGucket, "I didn't mean to upset ya." He pulled a greasy old rag from his pocket and offered it to Stan. Burying his face into the rag, Stan noisily blew his nose and began to sop up his tears. He felt stupid, crying in front of a virtual stranger like this.

"Now how about this," said McGucket, "First thing when you wake up tomorrow, you and I set out and try to find Dipper and Mabel?"

"They're gone," Stan choked.

"Horse tar and pig feathers," said McGucket dismissively.

"Those-- those aren't actual things people say," Stan retorted. Despite himself, he felt a twitch around his mouth that could have been a smile.

"Well, I do know that those twins of yours are good, smart, strong little kids," McGucket reassured him. "If anybody could face down Armageddon, it's those two. We'll find em, I know it."

Stan, for the first time in days, began to relax. The couch really was comfortable after all this time...

"Hey, McGucket."

"Yeah?"

"... wanna crash here tonight?"

"Gladly," said McGucket, who gently moved from under Stan's head and curled up to his side, instantly falling asleep once he was comfortable. Before drifting off himself, Stan gently placed a kiss on top of McGucket's head.

Stan swore that in his slumber, McGucket smiled.


End file.
